


Sunburn

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Inspired by official art, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Public Display of Affection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2015-10-29
Packaged: 2018-04-24 11:04:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4917178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It’s the warning that lets Gokudera pause what he’s doing, brace the parts of the bomb half-unwrapped in his hands, so when Yamamoto drops to crouch behind him and drapes an arm across his shoulders he doesn’t lose his grip on what he’s doing." Habit gets the better of Gokudera's attention.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunburn

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired entirely by http://i.imgur.com/sLT0Xbi.jpg

Gokudera can hear Yamamoto coming.

It’s not hard. The other boy’s laugh is carrying, even from a distance, and the scuff of his running feet as he jogs up to where Gokudera and Tsuna are sitting in the summer sun has the peculiar, easy rhythm that always gives him away. It’s the warning that lets Gokudera pause what he’s doing and brace the parts of the bomb half-unwrapped in his hands into stability, so when Yamamoto drops to crouch behind him and drapes an arm across his shoulders he doesn’t lose his grip on what he’s doing.

“Yo, Tsuna!” Yamamoto chirps, as bright and warm as the sun overhead. “Whatcha doing, Gokudera?”

“Working,” Gokudera says without any further explanation as Yamamoto’s other hand -- the one not currently curled around his shoulders and bumping the inside of his elbow -- comes out to rest against his hip. “Don’t bother me.” There’s no heat to the words at all, any expectation of obedience long since lost to the certainty of experience, any desire Gokudera had for such obedience fled even before. He doesn’t turn in to meet the press of Yamamoto’s chin against his shoulder -- he  _is_  in the middle of deconstructing the bomb in his hands, after all -- but he doesn’t offer any complaint when Yamamoto drops his weight back to sit behind him and angles his leg sideways so he can fit it against Gokudera’s hip. Yamamoto shifts his position, slides an inch closer so the heat of his chest is pressed against Gokudera’s spine, and Gokudera lets him, keeps his hands steady as he unravels the components of the cylinder in his hands. It’s easy to let Yamamoto fit in against him as the other boy cants his legs out wide to fit around the angle of Gokudera’s knees, and the arm that winds around his waist is more of a familiar comfort than an inconvenience, even with the heat of the sun starting to prickle sweat against the back of Gokudera’s neck.

Yamamoto sighs against his shoulder, the soft slur of noise that says he’s settling into comfort more than actually looking for a response. His hair brushes Gokudera’s ear, tickles against his skin as his mouth glances friction at the other’s neck, and Gokudera tips his head to the side without thinking to offer more of his skin for Yamamoto’s lips. There’s a faint huff of noise, incoherent pleasure spilling against his neck, and when Yamamoto presses another kiss just under his ear the tension along Gokudera’s spine starts to ease, lets him lean back to tip his weight against the steady support of Yamamoto’s chest. The stick of dynamite in his hands is coming apart at his urging, his motions made smooth with familiarity, and as he separates out the pieces Gokudera turns his head without thinking to bump his chin against the top of Yamamoto’s head.

“Idiot,” he says, the insult long since transformed to endearment between his lips and Yamamoto’s ears, and Yamamoto purrs a sustained note of pleasure and tugs at Gokudera’s shoulder to urge him closer. There’s nowhere for Gokudera to go -- Yamamoto is already pressed as close against him as he can get -- but he lets Yamamoto pull at him anyway, the force drawing a smile to his mouth as he lets the deconstructed dynamite fall to the ground.

“Hayato,” Yamamoto says, lifting his head to smile at Gokudera’s mouth, and Gokudera reaches up, twists around towards the other boy so he can fit his fingers into Yamamoto’s hair and press his mouth against Yamamoto’s lips. He’s sunshine-warm, glowing bright and faintly salty against Gokudera’s mouth, and Gokudera’s just tipping his head to trace Yamamoto’s mouth with his tongue when there is a half-strangled cough from in front of them.

Gokudera would like to say that he doesn’t jump so badly he nearly bites Yamamoto’s lip. He would also like to say that he had remembered that they weren’t alone, that he recalled that Tsuna and Reborn are both literally next to them. Unfortunately he can claim neither of these as truth; the only thing he has left is the jolt of adrenaline that pulls him away from Yamamoto’s mouth, burns his cheeks flaming hot with self-conscious awareness, and drags a “ _Tenth_ ” from him as if Tsuna had only just arrived. There’s a laugh from behind him, startled and shaky and only a little bit embarrassed; it’s fine for  _Yamamoto_ ,  _he_ can hide his face against Gokudera’s shoulder rather than trying to face Tsuna, who is currently doing his best to match Gokudera’s shade of crimson.

“I was just--” Tsuna starts, glowing violently in the general direction of his hands rather than meeting Gokudera’s eyes.

“Get a room,” Reborn cuts in.

There’s a burst of laughter against Gokudera’s shoulder before Yamamoto manages to choke the sound into a cough instead. Gokudera has a moment of painfully sharp self-consciousness, expectation of embarrassment a moment before it hits; then his skin burns itself into what must be a permanent glow, his blood evaporates into steam in his veins, and when he leans forward to press his face into his hands it’s with the very sincere wish of vanishing off the face of the earth.

He fails to effect the dematerialization he wants. But Yamamoto keeps laughing, his amusement contagious the longer it goes on, and then Tsuna starts to giggle breathless amusement, and Gokudera can’t hold out after that. He’s still flushed red but his smile breaks free anyway, tugging at his mouth even before he mumbles “Idiot” and tries to throw a punch that turns into the gentle affection of knuckles bumping Yamamoto’s wrist long before it hits.

His blush burns worse than a sunburn, but Gokudera finds it hurts a lot less.


End file.
